


Magnetic

by CircleReadd



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Chubby Reader, Crushes, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Infatuation, Masturbation, Sex in the vagina, Slow Burn, Smut, Unrequited Love, do not let the relatiosnhip tag fool you, idealisation, not necessarily porn, reader has breasts and a vagina, reader is female, reader wears glasses, there is no fontcest here - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-10-22 06:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleReadd/pseuds/CircleReadd
Summary: You were Sans' girlfriend. Papyrus knew that. You knew that.





	1. Chapter 1

You made Papyrus’ fingers twitch _._

Anytime you were close by, he could feel the heat coming off your soft, human form, he could smell your perfume, your deodorant, the smell of your clothes, your natural musk. You were intoxicating, and _yes_ , you made his fingers _twitch_ with the desire to reach out and touch you. Something about you caused a fuzz in his senses, like you gave off a glowing haze of something _oh, so very touchable_ and it took everything in his power to not sit as close as possible to you and squeeze his arms around you, ghost your knuckles with his fingertips, run his fingers through your hair.

You know, in the way that Sans, his brother, _your boyfriend_ would do.

Papyrus had liked you instantly, undeniably. Sans had introduced you to him a few months after they’d moved to the outskirts of the city; you and his older brother worked on the same street, so had met in a bar close by and became very good friends. He’d mention you, his friend Reader, every now and again and eventually he asked the taller skeleton to come and meet the two of you and a group of friends in town for a drink.

And you were _awfully_ pretty. And round. And cute. And smart. And funny.

You were a breeze to talk to, with the sweetest laugh and an excellent set of teeth filling your smile and without even thinking about it, Papyrus was putting his massive hands on you, touching your arm in laughter, playfully grabbing your waist, patting your head, tucking your hair behind your ear. And he couldn’t miss how your eyes sparkled, your face flushed with his attention and he’d grinned with satisfaction. But equally, his heart would sting with jealousy when he spied Sans paying you a similar attention across the room from him as the night went on. Your faces were bowed together in tender, smoky whispers and Papyrus could see you both _sparking._ The two of you were close, it was undeniable. You had a natural chemistry between you that had been brewed over months of seeing each other every day, giving the older brother an advantage over him, once again.

He’d fumed with a green, steaming envy at first, watching you trace a finger along Sans’ jawline, brush your lips against his forehead and all those lovely, lovely smiles you gave him, but the intensity had softened when he saw how incredibly _happy_ Sans was in your presence. The only thing he seemed capable of emoting these days was apathy and mischief, but _you,_ with your patience, your kindness and wit, brought out something in Sans that honestly made Papyrus want to cry. He hadn’t seen it in his brother’s face in so many years; genuine happiness, contentment. _Peace._

How could he do anything but graciously bow his head in acceptance when Sans informed him the following day “I’m really glad you like her, ‘cos… I was thinking about asking her out.”

And so you and his brother began dating.

Your relationship happened mostly out of the house, at first, thankfully out of his line of sight. He could pretend, for the most part, that it wasn’t happening – even that you didn’t exist but… That protective bubble didn’t last. As things got more comfortable, more _serious,_ Papyrus began to see more and more of you, making dinner in his kitchen, napping on his sofa. Glimpses of bare, fleshy legs visible through the jar in Sans’ bedroom door. You’d watch movies with them with those same legs resting in Sans’ lap, and the shorter skeleton would stroke your shins and your knees in tender affection as Papyrus could only sit stiffly on his other side, pouring all his effort into not visibly shaking with the envious desire to treat you with the same touch and care.

You were magnetic, you were a beacon, you radiated goodness and the skeleton thirsted after you like a deathly parched wanderer in an arid, arid desert, and it drove him _wild_. The shame, the outright guilt, how could he think such things about his brother’s girlfriend? How could his brain be so heartless as to run amok with thoughts of kissing you, of stealing you away and keeping you for himself? How could he lust after you in the dead of the night as the sounds of your pleasure moaned through his wall, when it was his _brother_ you were moaning for?

He found himself, again, hunched over on his knees underneath his bedcovers, biting down on his pillow in an attempt to muffle his yowls of pleasure, listening to your own stifled pants and gasps and moans that fed through the wall, as he satiated his arousal with sad, lonely hands. He hated it, but it was the only way he could silence his mind of thoughts of you beneath _him_ , calling _his_ name, taking _his_ cock, which he pounded into your no-doubt glorious pussy so gratefully, so thankfully.

“Reader,” his pillow swallowed his already-quiet voice as he pumped his throbbing member, filling the room with a shameful, orange glow as he imagined your flushed face, your beautiful eyes looking up at him with love and adoration, entirely his “ _Reader._ ”

Your moans through the wall were getting louder, more fraught and frayed, and god it was like music. What a delicious sound, how glorious it must be to be the one to give you such pleasure, to make you make such noise. Papyrus imagined it as himself, almost smiling with the excitement of the fantasy as he pumped, and pumped, thrusting his cock into his hand, imagining your pussy stretched over it instead “ _Reader._ ”

More shouts, more cries.

“ _Reader,”_ he whined _“You feel so good.”_

“Y-you’re gonna make me cum.”

Good _god_ you were a goddess. Your stifled voice had Papyrus at the end of his rope, and as your orgasm undeniably split through you with a cry of pleasure, the skeleton squeezed his eyes shut, peaking alongside you as he bit harder down into his pillow, hot, sticky cum spooling out of him as he imagined creaming into your magnificent mound. A holy place.

He didn’t deserve you.

And it was when his sense, thrown-out with his climax, finally returned to clear out the fog of his lustful mind that he’d realised that he’d heard his voice say something in the quiet of his room as he’d released himself, messily, onto his bedsheets.

“Reader,” he had said “I love you.”

He slowly raised his clean hand to cover his eyes.

He _loved_ you.

How self-destructive. How pointless. How incredibly _useless_ to _love_ you.

But he couldn’t deny it.

Once, in a moment of weakness, Papyrus had peaked at your soul. He knew he shouldn’t of - it was an inappropriate and invasive thing to do to humans - but he couldn’t help himself; he needed to know! And, truly, it was the most wonderful, wonderous green. Emerald upon emerald with _Kindness;_ he’d never seen anything like it _._ And god, were you kind. And gentle. And warm. You always smiled at him. You always offered to help with dinner, or straight up made it yourself. You reminded him to wrap up on cold days and drink water on hot. You always defended him when his brother was coiling him into fury with his incessant puns. Your prettiness and your figure be damned, you were a good and loving person, and yes, _yes,_ he _loved_ you.

The skeleton sat on his knees in the dark of his room with his blankets cloaked around his shoulders, his face resting in a jaded expression of resigned self-hatred.

He needed to clean up.

Papyrus switched on his lamp and wiped up whatever fluids were left on his person with a handful of tissues, before quickly throwing on some pyjama pants and an old, black t-shirt with a skull on it, the white print cracked with age. He then went about gathering up his filthy sheets, having zero interest in laying in his shame; he did that enough as it was, without laying in the literal filth of it. Plus a less melodramatic reason was that it was just gross. Old sheets in the wash, new ones on the bed, the skeleton was too awake to sleep, so figured he would stay up until his bedclothes were clean and hung up before attempting to go back to bed.

He sat sideways on the sofa and busied himself with a puzzle book, opting to fill-in the mazes and word-searches over the sudoku and crosswords. It helped to ease his mind, somewhat. each little paper success making him feel a bit more like himself – the smart, cool person he knew he was. That person seemed to be missing a lot of the time, these days. Maybe it was time to start thinking about moving out.

He’d filled in about a quarter of the book when he turned the page and was suddenly struck with a tiny stab in the heart when a small drawing in ball-point pen caught his eye. It was one of your little self-portraits. You liked to leave them in random places, your little caricatures, in notepads and puzzle books, on post-it notes and scraps of paper on the fridge door. You would also occasionally draw Sans and on even rarer occasions, Papyrus himself. You were pretty good, too. But Papyrus found himself rolling his eye sockets with a small growl – you had invaded even this sanctuary. But still, he gently thumbed your little cartoon face, absent-mindedly, his heart fluttering as he imagined you, _god what a cutie-pie_ , tip-toeing about, sneakily snatching the book and scratching the ink into an image. The skeleton heaved a deep sigh, then tore the corner that your face sat in out of the little book, before pushing himself to his feet. He stepped into the hall, to the coat-rack and fished his wallet out of his pocket. That’s where cartoon-you would live from now on. Not on the surface, where someone might see and question it, but instead in a little fold that was awkward to get to, so not used very often. In the back of his wallet. In the back of his mind, always.

“Well, this is a rarity.”

If Papyrus had had skin, he would have nearly jumped out of it at the sudden sound of a husky, feminine voice that was, unmistakably – he turned around – yours. You stood on the bottom step, with sleepy eyes, messy hair and a half smile, as you looked at him curiously, your head tilted to one side and a dressing gown, soft and fleecy with little cartoon faces, tied around you. Your arms were crossed as though you were cold.

“R-reader,” Papyrus stammered, thankful that the dim light of the room was likely concealing the orange blush on his face “I didn’t hear you come down!”

It’s true, he hadn’t. You were always very quiet in your movements. Spooky girl. He loved it.

“Sorry, Papyrus, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you stepped down off the stair and glided past him, through the living room towards the kitchen, oblivious to Papyrus’ hypnotised gaze following you “It’s unusual to see you skulking around at this hour. Are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine… J-just couldn’t sleep, is all.”

You hummed in agreement. It seemed you were sharing a similar problem.

“I slept too much, today,” you said absently as you rummaged around in a kitchen cupboard, the tall skeleton cautiously moving to inhabit the kitchen doorway, watching you pull out some bread. You fished out two slices, then looked at him “Do you want some toast?”

“I’m OK, thank you,” he replied stiffly. He moved to sit at the kitchen table, eyes keen on the shape of you in the dim light as you pottered about with the simple task at hand. You’d been around all day and he knew for a fact that you had not slept as much as his brother had so “… Why is it you’re awake, but Sans isn’t?”

“Oh, you know Sans, he flips a switch in his brain and he’s out like a light, whether he’s slept for two or twenty-two hours in a day.”

“Yes, well, the sex probably helped with that.”

You froze.

He had _not_ meant to say that. He had not meant to say that so _bitterly_.

God, he just wanted to die as you slowly turned to look at him, moving even slower in the slow-motion of his mind as his thoughts raced with embarrassment or attempted to conjure up some kind of joke he could say to cover it up but-

“…You heard that?”

-He wasn’t fast enough.

“… It’s hard not to.”

This was probably the worst conversation of Papyrus’ life, and you were only five sentences in.

“Oh my _god_ ,” your face flushed a beet-red with the shame as you moved your hands to hide it, leaning back against the counter with your head tilted to the ceiling, letting out a long, guttural moan. You dropped your hands to bulge your eyes at him “Does this mean you’ve heard everything, this whole time?!”

Papyrus turned his gaze to the side, awkwardly, with a pensive shrug of one shoulder, before giving you a shallow nod of his head.

“ _Jesus wept_ ,” your hands were covering your face again “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?!”

Because he’d somehow become a masochist and enjoyed the sound of you receiving pleasure? In the moments where you weren’t moaning his brother’s name, he could pretend like _he_ was the one making you feel good. But obviously he couldn’t tell you that. He opted for a much easier lie, which was; “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“He didn’t know how to bring it up,” you relayed, shaking your head, to an unseen party which, Papyrus supposed, was just yourself “Well. It’s been brought up. That’s good. I guess. THANK YOU… For… Bringing this to my attention I will… Have a chat with Sans.”

“Well, Sans is actually quite quiet-“

“ _JESUS FUCKING CHRIST_ ,” Papyrus flinched at your sudden curse, as you covered your ears, not wanting to hear anymore. He didn’t blame you. Damn his natural compulsion to be honest. That initial statement about sex had been like a toothbrush to the non-existent uvula, and the rest had spilled out of him in an unforgiving episode of word-vomit. You held your hand across your eyes “Let’s not say anymore, shall we?”

The two of you remained in a tense, stony silence as you went about buttering the toast that had freshly popped out of the toaster, Papyrus mostly keeping his eyes averted to the table top, tightly clutching and unclutching his shirt in his hand as he shamed over the whole situation. But of course he occasionally stole glances at you. A few moments passed that truly felt like years.

You turned back to face him, eventually, with your toast on a plate and you sighed.

“Please don’t feel bad about this, Papyrus,” he looked at you in surprise “I can see it in your face. You are not the person that should feel bad or embarrassed here. I am honestly glad that you’ve told me, so please don’t worry about it. I’m sorry about everything, it won’t happen again.”

Papyrus hated himself for being vaguely disappointed.

“Thanks, Reader.”

“I know I spend a lot of time here,” you continued, gliding to sit across from the visibly uncomfortable skeleton “I can imagine it’s quite difficult for you to see me so often.”

“Difficult?” wait, did you _know_?

“Well, yes. Having an outsider in your space can be exhausting,” Papyrus didn’t realise he had been holding his breath until he let go of it “ _I’m_ quite introverted, but I can imagine even rays of sunshine like you can get emotionally drained from time to time. I guess it would explain why you aren’t much like yourself these days.”

A beat of silence. The skeleton frowned “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry,” you were a needlessly apologetic person “I know that I’ve only really known you since I started seeing your brother but… You aren’t the person he described to me. I can see _flickers_ of that person, sometimes but… You’re progressively becoming less and less like them.”

Papyrus didn’t know what to say, letting you munch on your toast in silence. He thought he’d done really well to cover up that he was being torn apart from the heart outwards. His brother had always been quick to point out even the slightest change in attitude, so surely, at last, he had become the cunning master of deceit he had always dreamed of, after all those years of watching spy and action movies. But you, an owl, hadn’t missed a trick, the quiet watcher; a wise, old seer of things. You were a lot like Sans, actually. Maybe that was partly why the tall skeleton liked you so much… That thought left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“Do you… Like me, Papyrus?”

“Yes!” he startled you both. OK, let’s reel it in “Yes, of course I do…”

 _‘So, why are you so weird around me?’_ would have been a natural question to follow with, but you said nothing, sitting in a continued, contemplative silence as you finished the remainder of your toast. Papyrus watched you, shamelessly, a hand stretched out and rested in the space between you on the table. If only you were so inclined to meet him, halfway.

“I like you, too,” your voice broke through the quiet and his heart leapt. To you it was a passive affection, _of course_ you liked the brother of your boyfriend, but for the skeleton sat across from you, it lit the wicks of candles and the fuses of dynamite in his brain, and he’d be damned if he didn’t sit there and smile like an idiot, rewarded. A smile of your own appeared on your face at his reaction, charmed. You stood up “Well, my dear… I think it’s time I went back to bed.”

The skeleton still said nothing as he watched with bright eyes, as you quickly scrubbed your plate and set it to dry, before you glided over to his side. You tilted your head, with a curious smile, placing a hand on his shoulder “I thought Papyruses were supposed to be loud. But you’re a quiet little thing, aren’t you?”

Papyrus was not little. He was twice your size. _You_ were little. But your statement scratched an itch that he hadn’t even realised was itching. He had a sudden desire to lay in your lap and have you tell him he was a good boy. He could only smile shyly up at you, completely at a loss for words, still buzzing with you simply telling him that you liked him. He hadn’t noticed his large hand had drifted up to rest on the small of your back as you leaned lightly against him in affection. He was overcome with warmth and his heart soared.

“Goodnight, Papyrus,” you whispered. You bowed your head and pressed your lips to the smooth bone of his cranium, in a long, sweet kiss, and his hands shook, clutching at the back of your dressing gown as though he needed the support. He could die like this. He wanted to be buried in this moment. Your kiss broke from his skull, and he found himself looking up at you with eye sockets full of wonder and cheeks flushed orange as you stared back at him, something happening behind your eyes, your face so, so close to his. Something… _Sparked_ between you.

And you kissed.

It was firm, but tender, and over all too quickly, as Papyrus had sucked in a sharp, high-pitched breath through his nose as he realised what was happening, pulling you back to your own senses and making you jolt backwards. You blinked at him, wide eyed, in shock at yourself.

“ _Oh my god,”_ you breathed, touching your lips in disbelief, before flapping your hands in frantic, little movements “Why did I _do_ that?! I’m _so_ sorry!”

“I-it’s fine I-“

“God, this is not a good night for me is it?” you started _laughing_ , flushing with embarrassment, a hand to your forehead “Jesus Christ. Uh.”

You raised the flat of your palm like a stop sign, at him, continuing “ _Don’t worry._ I will… Tell Sans about this. He won’t be mad, if I’m just honest. It’s the middle of the night. We’re tired. _I’m_ tired. People do weird stuff when they’re tired, right?”

God, you were so cute.

“Christ, Papyrus, I’m honestly so sorry,” the skeleton tried to refuse your apology, but you were already walking away, through the living room to the stairs, still rambling in your shame “I hope you don’t think less of me. I’ll sort it. I’m not the kind of person that sneaks around kissing her boyfriends’ brothers in the middle of the night.”

“I know that!” Papyrus could see you freeze, from his place at the kitchen table “Because you’re very kind… You’re the kindest person I know.”

It was undeniable. Unignorable. There were no tricks of the light, no fantastic misjudgements, only the physical, see-able truth, as you turned around like a deer caught in headlights, and _blushed_. Deeply. At _him_. At what _he’d_ said. Papyrus could only stare back, his heart racing and his own face flushing as the pair of you lagged in time, unaware of the seconds that were ticking by as you were caught on each other. He didn’t have a lot of experience in these things, but he could feel something not unlike electricity humming between you, sparking backwards and forwards and through his very core, and he had never felt such a desire to touch you before. And he wanted to touch you almost always. You were magnetic.

But he remained frozen in his spot, and the electric pull was broken as you shortly turned away, to continue towards the stairs. At first you hastened, eager to get out of this weird situation that had evolved simply from wanting a midnight snack, but then you were pausing once more as you were about the climb the stairs.

You turned back to see Papyrus still watching you, intently, from the kitchen table, hands poised as though he were about to leap over it, like a tiger pouncing its prey.

You waved, shyly over your shoulder to him, and then disappeared up the stairs.

He was alone, as though you had never been there to begin with.

Papyrus swallowed. His sigh quaked as he breathed out.

“ _Wowie_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to your word, you tell Sans about last night's misdeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is officially a multi-chaptered story, it just started falling out of me. I don't know where or if it will end, it's gonna be a lot of slice of life stuff, more-so than anything.
> 
> As we go through, chapters that are nsfw will be marked as such in the chapter index, simply because I really wish people did that more often!

Sans remembered very clearly the first time he and his brother stood beneath the surface’s night sky. They’d stepped out, together, from the shelter they’d checked into, to collect themselves and touch base after such an enormous change to their lives had befallen them. They were happy, but it was a lot, and even extroverted Papyrus needed space from his friends to process everything. They had been hit by the cold night air, and in their concentration, inside, had not realised how dark it had become, the empty space of the land inky and smooth, with the rocks and the trees and everything that didn’t give off its own light giving off a blue, glowing haze, reflecting the light of… Something else.

The chatter of his brother had gone silent and Sans suddenly felt a large gloved hand tightly gripping his shoulder, and when he looked up at him, he saw that Papyrus was staring up towards the heavens, his finger pointed fixedly in the direction of his gaze. The night sky was filled with more glittering stars than any one person could even begin to count; truly the stuff of every monster child’s dream, but Papyrus looked entirely past them, infatuated purely with the grand, beaming face of the moon.

“Sans,” he had whispered, falling in love “… Is that the moon?”

“Yeah, buddy,” came his quiet reply “I’m pretty sure it is.”

It was a few years ago, now, in a different place, but Sans kept that moment fixed solidly in his memory bank. It was a good one, one that he revisited during the times where he found himself slipping into a listless gloom. A simple moment that reminded him that change would always come with patience, and there was always opportunity and goodness waiting within it.

His younger brother went on to become utterly fixated with the moon. From fact to fiction, he read everything he could get his hands on, absorbed every bit of information down to the letter and would talk about it for hours with anyone who had the patience to listen. And even when time passed, and the fixation simmered down – as was the nature of Papyrus’ obsessive rollercoaster mind – the moon still remained a very dear thing within his heart, a love that presented in the form of key-chains and posters, and a special app on his phone that would tell him about what the big reflective rock was up to and what humans thought it meant. If he gave pause to think about it at the right time, the skeleton would still go and stand out in the yard on clear nights and look wistfully upwards for at least half an hour.

One day, Sans noticed his brother looking at you, as you hummed while washing dishes in the kitchen sink. Teeth slightly agape, body still, slow, slow blinks over eye sockets that were tender but focused. And once he noticed it the first time, he noticed it more and more.

Papyrus looked at you like you were the moon.

You were pretty and funny and kind, things that Sans himself had liked in you immediately when you first bumped into him at the bar near work. Admittedly you were a little tipsy at the time, but your friendliness and warmth, combined with your cute, rosy face and infectious laughter made his heart skip a beat. Or maybe he just had a thing for girls with glasses.  _Chubby_ girls with glasses, with smooth, sultry voices. Whatever it was, the skeleton found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame; you were magnetic. And being around you was just so… Easy.

So he had made a conscious effort to be around you. It started with getting your number, then bringing you and your co-workers hot dogs, then walking you to the train station after work, every day. Six months flew by, full of good morning and good night texts, shared lunch breaks and after-work drinks, and the more he saw of you, the more he liked you and it reached a point where even lazy Sans felt he should probably do something about whatever was humming between you.

The beauty of the relationship was that dating you wasn’t much different than being your friend. It was so simple and uncomplicated, which was exactly how Sans liked it. You fit together like happy little puzzle pieces, watching movies, ordering pizza and falling asleep on the sofa. Date nights were meals out or trips to ice cream parlours, or the two of you would team up with your group of friends and hit the town for drinks and dorky dancing, nights filled with laughter and flirtation. He loved watching you with your friends, how you laughed and yelled, extrovert-ism oozing out from behind your usual prowess of thoughtful, reserved quietness. He loved seeing so many sides of you, complex and unique and utterly, utterly yourself.

Sans totally understood the passion of Papyrus’ fixation with the moon. Once he had gotten a taste of you, he wanted to learn about and see every part of you. He wanted to absorb and consume and experience everything you had to offer. Your lust and your pride, your anger and happiness.

So when Papyrus looked at you like you were the moon, did he also have that same desire?

He couldn’t blame him if he did.

You were magnetic.

* * *

 

“Um, Sans. Honey, do you… Have time to chat before you go?”

Sans was at your side in an instant, pausing in his getting-ready-for-work to come and sit on the side of the bed, helping you cloak the duvet around your shoulders as you sat up beside him. He sweetly put your glasses on for you, chuckling when you readjusted them.

“I’ve _always_ got time. What did you wanna talk about? How _adorable_ I am?” he grinned, pushing the side of his face against your shoulder and looking up at you, cheekily “You like my big, round head; I remember you telling me when you were drunk that one time, after you laughed ‘til you cried when I spilt my beer on you.”

“Yes, thank you for the memory, Sans,” you rolled your eyes, unable to keep yourself from grinning, for a moment, before your seriousness returned “I _would_ like to talk about that, but sadly there are more pressing issues at hand.”

“Hit me.”

You sighed, again.

“It’s… About your brother,” you tested the water, watching his face, his response of silence urging you to continue as he sat up straight again “I got up in the night, and _weirdly_ Papyrus was also up and about.”

Sans watched you with a still, unreadable expression, absorbing. You gave him more to absorb “So, we had a bit of a chat. It was all very interesting. First of all, embarrassingly, I have learned that the whole time that you and I have been having sex in this house, Pap has been able to hear the whole thing.”

The skeleton gave a low, mean-spirited guffaw “Oh my god, that’s hilarious.”

“It is _not_ hilarious, I am absolutely _mortified,”_ this only made him laugh harder as you gesticulated, frantically “The poor bastard is probably traumatised. God, he must hate me.”

“Papyrus does _not_ hate you.”

“I mean, he _says_ he doesn’t, but I’m not so sure, Sans. Maybe he’s just saying that to be nice. It would explain a lot about why he’s so, I don’t know… Different,” you shrugged your shoulders, miserably “You always said he was loud and out-going… And when I first met him, he was totally that person, I saw it with my own eyes but… Since then, since we started dating, he’s practically a mouse around me.”

Sans was silent again, just doing what he did best and listening. You heaved one last sigh, bracing yourself.

“And… That kinda takes us up to… The end of this little encounter, um…” you swallowed, shakily taking his hand and giving it a squeeze “N-now, please don’t be mad. I promise, there was no intent or meaning behind this at all, I’m not even really sure why it happened, it just kind of _did_ and I feel really _bad_ about it and-“

“Reader, you’re rambling,” he squeezed your hand to quieten your racing mind “Just tell me what happened.”

You bit your lip.

“I kissed him.”

Sans stared at you for a hot second “Papyrus?”

“Yes. Papyrus.”

“You kissed Papyrus?”

“Yes, I kissed Papyrus.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“I don’t know, maybe? It was literally just a two second thing. A peck!”

“… _My_ brother, Papyrus?”

“ _Yes_ , Sans, _your brother_ Papyrus. How many Papyruses are there in this god forsaken world? Is it a common name?! I’d certainly never heard of it, before, OUTSIDE OF A GODDAMN, FUCKING WORD DOCUMENT.”

“I think it’s a kind of… Paper, as well?”

“SANS!”

“What?” had he _seriously_ just zoned out? You felt like you were going to explode all over the walls.

“… REACT!”

“Oh, um,” Sans leaned back on his hands and stared up at the ceiling in contemplation as you visibly vibrated with the suspense “… Huh.”

“HUH?!” you were aghast “WHAT’S _HUH_?!”

“I just… I didn’t think he had it in him,” you were about to launch into another shouting ramble when Sans held up his hand, with a gentle stare “OK, Reader, we’re gonna have to reel it in. The volume’s getting a little much and I’m concerned you’re gonna, like, pull something.”

You made a long squeak that wasn’t unlike the pressured whistle of a steaming kettle.

“It’s fine, it’s all good, just take a few deep breaths, OK? Just in and out,” he breathed with you for a few moments, before he pushed himself off the bed “I’ll be right back, let me get you some water.”

You continued to follow his example and puff air in and out of your lungs, as Sans disappeared out of the room and shambled down the stairs, instantly spotting Papyrus sitting at the kitchen table, filling in pages of that puzzle book, again. The elder of the two brothers materialised at the kitchen counter, making the younger one jump.

“Sans,” he groaned, frustratedly, as the shorter skeleton quickly sorted out a glass of water “Is everything alright? Did I hear shouting?”

“Oh,” Sans’ face gleamed with mischief as he slowly turned to grin at the other skeleton “You’re in _big_ trouble.”

Papyrus was barely finished _thinking_ about panicking at such a statement before his brother had disappeared again, climbing back up the stairs like a gorilla, one hand outstretched to keep the glass steady.

Back in Sans’ room, you were still a little anxious, but the pause had given you room to calm down and reflect a little. Sans _wasn’t_ mad. You’d seen him mad, and this wasn’t it. So that was good. He didn’t even seem upset either, which was… Surprising. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you would have said that the skeleton was actually… Amused by this whole thing. Which to you was totally ass-backwards, but if it meant you weren’t going to get dumped outside, on the pavement, well, you weren’t going to complain.

You raised your eyes when he reappeared in the door way, a soft expression on his limited face.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked as he drew closer. He placed the glass of water into your grasp.

“I’m fine,” you replied distantly, with a thousand-yard stare.

He chuckled a little “Very convincing.”

“… Why aren’t you upset?”

“… Do you _want_ me to be upset?”

“Well, _no_ , obviously, but I think you have the _right_ to be upset.”

“Well, I don’t have to exercise that right, if I don’t want to,” Sans countered. You twisted your mouth, in annoyance.

“ _I_ would be upset,” you offered up as an example, but the skeleton simply gave a shrug.

“Look, we can argue about why I am or am not upset, or you can just accept that I’m _just not_ ,” he explained, firmly. You resigned yourself to quietly sipping water, letting him continue “This happened last night, right? It’s not like it’s some big secret that you kept from me. You haven’t been scheming against me or going behind my back. You were honest with me, and I appreciate that a lot.”

You hummed in agreement, but you still didn’t look convinced. Sans slung an arm around your shoulders and gave you a good squeeze.

“Honestly, babe, it’s not a big deal.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Sans laughed with the apparent absurdity of your doubt, pushing himself up off the bed “Even if it happened again, as long as you told me, I’d be cool.”

“Alright…” you stared down at the carpet, for a few moments, processing the conversation. Suddenly your eyes snapped upwards “Wait, what do you mean if it happens again?!”

“I gotta go, babe, we can talk later,” he planted a swooping kiss in your hair before hurriedly taking his leave, heading out his bedroom and shambling back down the stairs. You were hot on his tail, wrapping your dressing gown around yourself in a fluster.

“Wait! Sans, it’s not _going_ to happen again?! Why would you say that?” he didn’t reply, as he headed through the living room, to the front door “Sans? SANS?!”

“SANS!” Papyrus suddenly ducked through the kitchen doorway to also pursue the short-statured skeleton, clearly flustered and frustrated about something too “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I’M IN BIG TROUBLE?!”

Sans waved over his shoulder as he breezed through the front door “Goodbye, children, I love you both!”

“Sans!”

“SANS!”

The door slammed shut behind him and the house fell silent. You and Papyrus stood, flabbergasted, staring with gaping mouths at the front door, minds racing with questions and confusion and panic. Then you looked at each other.

“Hello.”

“Good morning.”

Greetings such as these were normally met with idle chit-chat and small talk between ordinary people in an ordinary situation. But nothing was ordinary, here. With Papyrus’ greeting, he was turning on his heel to go back into the kitchen, which you would have been offended by, were your own greeting not juxtaposed by you feverishly tightening your dressing gown around yourself and nearly running to climb back up the stairs. He was the last person you wanted to see right now. You were too confused, too irritated, too _embarrassed_.

And you also didn’t like the fact that as soon as your eyes had locked, for that tiny split second, your little heart had _leapt._

Maybe, it would be best if you went home, for the day.

* * *

 

You didn’t go home.

You fell asleep instead.

One of those kinds of sleeps that one doesn’t prepare for. One second you were throwing yourself into Sans’ bed and cocooning yourself shamefully in his blankets, and the next you were suddenly peering wearily out from within said cocoon and checking the clock to see that it was noon and you’d clearly passed out for a bonus three hours.

Well, you had been pretty tired, you supposed, before all the weirdness set in.

The house was quiet, but that did little to suggest whether anyone was in or out, and in a hangover of awkwardness, you found yourself creeping down the stairs to get a read of the situation. You didn’t have any intention of _avoiding_ Papyrus, but a little mental preparation was very much needed for your anxious mind, right now. The smooth, white dome of his head was visible from over the back of the sofa, as he sat quietly and read, and you puffed out a sigh of acceptance, before heading back upstairs to wash up and get dressed.

You had packed your bag with the intent of staying at Sans’ house for two nights. Sure, he had work today, while you had the day off, but you felt comfortable enough there to just hang around doing your own thing, while you waited for him to come home in the evening. Or, at least you _had_ felt comfortable. Now, you felt a little weird for just bumming around doing nothing in the same house as his brother, who you were still feeling very confused and guilty about kissing. While you showered, you mulled over the situation and decided that you would make yourself useful and do Sans’ laundry. He would always scold you for doing chores for him, saying you were his girlfriend and not his mother, but you felt you needed to contribute a little to the household you were now, apparently, sullying.

Outfit of the day? A dark green sweater dress over a black and white stripy blouse and a rare pair of jeans. Snuggly but smart, quirky but casual. You zipped on your usual, brown ankle boots, before hefting yourself up off Sans’ bed and drying your hair. You didn’t usually use a hair-dryer, but for some reason you felt compelled to. And then you found yourself drawing on eye-liner in the mirror – wait. Were you trying to look pretty?

You frowned in confusion at yourself.

“I’m allowed to look pretty,” you assured you, then continued what you were doing. You could look pretty if you wanted, even on do-nothing days. It was a pretty kind of do-nothing day!

Then finally, once you felt ready to step out and officially present yourself for the day, you grabbed Sans’ laundry basket and made your way down the stairs, putting a little more force into your footfalls than usual so your descent made more noise, because _yes_ , Reader was still here and everyone in the house needed to be ready for that. You _definitely_ needed to be ready for that.

“Hello, again,” you announced as casually as you could over the sofa to Papyrus, who you would have noticed visibly tensed at your arrival, did you not keep your eyes fixedly on the kitchen door as you breezed through the living room.

“Hello, Reader,” came his meek reply, following you with his eyes, somewhat startled by how unusually loud and, well, _obvious_ you were being. He blinked “You’re wearing jeans!”

You froze in the kitchen doorway, Sans’ laundry basket under your arm. You looked at him, properly, at last “Um, yes. That is a thing that I do, sometimes.”

“Not very often,” Papyrus commented, staring at you carefully as you turned around to face him, politely. You shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah, y’know. I like tights, I like to make an effort… But jeans are easy and comfy, sometimes... Um…”

The use of the word “um” suggested you were going to say something else, but it seemed it was simply an awkward placeholder for nothingness as you did a one-eighty and continued with throwing Sans’ clothes in the wash. Novelty print boxers, lots of odd socks and a few t-shirts with ketchup stains passed through your hands and into the drum of the machine, before you reached for the washing gel. As you went to squeeze the gel into the cap, the bottle gave a sad, pathetic, dying breath. Empty. Annoying.

Well. This gave you a reason to go out, you supposed.

“Hey, Pap,” you hung sideways from the kitchen doorway, by one arm, as the tall skeleton looked up from his book again “You’re out of laundry gel, so I’m gonna go shopping and grab some, did you need anything?”

“Oh, I, uh,” Papyrus wavered in his response, glancing awkwardly from side to side “I-I don’t think so, I-”

“Alrighty, well, I’m just gonna grab my stuff and g-“

“Were you going to get the bus?” he asked you suddenly. You quirked an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Let me drive you.”

Neither of you had been prepared for him to say that.

“I’m sorry?”

“Let me drive you,” he pressed, setting his book down and standing up, stepping pensively towards you. You found yourself swallowing lightly as he towered over you “I’ll come with you. We can go in my car.”

No.

No.

Just no.

This was not a good idea, you did _not_ want to be alone with Papyrus right now, you did not want to awkwardly go _shopping_ with _Papyrus_ , right now.

“O-OK.”

“… OK! Let me just grab my wallet, and keys.”

“I need my backpack.”

“I’ll see you at the front door!”

“OK.”

“OK!”

Okay.

Let’s go shopping with Papyrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clicks heels* What fun!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Papyrus have an uncomfortable car ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. I do apologise for the delay on this one! I've been doing a lot of art, recently, which kind of took priority for a bit, but I really love this story so I ain't gonna drop it.
> 
> If you like this, you may also like my art! I do a lot of Papyrus x Self-Insert and Sans x Self-Insert here, and you can find my work at circleheadd.tumblr.com
> 
> On with the chapter!

Papyrus had no idea, _no_ idea why on earth he had thought taking you out shopping would be a beneficial experience. He must of really, really reached into the deepest annals of his mind to find his excuse, because now that you were sitting next to him, in the passenger seat of his car, a stony silence hanging between you as you both waited in traffic, he could not for the life of him find that excuse again.

It was just a weird reflex that he’d blurted out; offering to drive you, to accompany you.

He’d thought about you for the remainder of the previous night, and all that morning. Which wasn’t odd - you were always on his mind - but now, after the events of your midnight encounter, you were on his mind with _gusto_. Thoughts of you were feverish, incessant and noisy. Normally you haunted him like a ghost, gliding through and lingering in his brain in a pleasant, smoky quietness, but _now_ , the act of kissing you had led to you kicking down his door, yodelling, to start banging pots and pans.

He was a jittering, distracted mess, the sensation of your soft lips still tingling, undying, on his teeth, jolting through him like bolts of electricity making his fingers drum and twitch on any and all surfaces, or tremor in mid-air. His morning had been largely unproductive, attempting to calm his mind with reading and puzzles, but finding that he could follow no instruction, repeatedly reading over the same words with zero absorption. He went for a run, to try and burn himself out, but that didn’t help either, the hammock in his head that you’d usually lay in vacated as you stomped around his brain-house playing a trumpet. Making him nervous. Because not only had you kissed him, and it had been the best and most wonderful thing to have ever happened to him, you had also kissed him, and it had been the worst and most damning thing to have ever happened to him. You were _Sans_ ’ girlfriend. His _brother_ Sans’ girlfriend. Masturbating to the thought you was one thing. Actually being physically intimate with you was a whole other thing entirely.

_It was only a kiss, and she said it was an accident_ , he had tried to convince himself, but god knows that’s how it starts. You get a taste and then you just _have to have more_. Papyrus didn’t want to have an illicit affair with you, and he also didn’t want to suddenly wake up from a dissociative episode and find himself sniffing your underwear. And more than anything he just couldn’t bear the thought of betraying Sans. Of having _betrayed_ Sans. You’d said, no _promised,_ that you were going to tell the older skeleton what had happened, and Papyrus was desperate to know if that conversation had taken place. If it had, what was said? If it hadn’t, _when was it going to?_

The car ride was an iron trap of tension as the pair of you crawled through traffic. The closest supermarket to the brothers’ house was inside a shopping centre, about five minutes away by car, but the natural traffic of grey, tarmacked suburbia dragged it out to a twenty-minute journey, at the quickest. Still faster than you getting the bus, but hey, if he’d just left you to it, like a sensible being with coherent thoughts, neither of you would have been going through whatever the hell _this_ was supposed to be. Papyrus was _empathetic_ but by no means an empath. In fact, at his lowest he would say that he could sometimes, maybe, be a little bit disconnected from what others were feeling, but almost certainly, _you_ were feeling uncomfortable about the exact same thing he was. The scowl on your face, which he’d learned over time was the product of shyness rather than actual disdain, was clear indication of that.

You puffed out a frustrated sigh.

“I talked to Sans,” you had never been one for small talk “About what happened, last night.”

Papyrus let all of the air leave his body in a long, groaning sigh of relief, before quickly sucking it all back in, in a newly focused tension “You did? You did... What did he say?”

“Honestly?” you blinked at the dashboard, incredulously “Not a fat lot.”

“Was he upset?”

“No.”

“Angry?”

“No!”

“Did you have to convince him not to poison me?”

“ _No!”_

“No, your right, Sans would never do that,” he looked sternly down at his fists, balled tightly around the steering wheel “… He might punch me though.”

“I won’t let him,” you said firmly, frowning into your lap. Papyrus watched you in his periphery, his heart swelling. Sometimes he looked at you and wanted to sweep you off your feet. Others, he wanted to be swept off his feet _by you_. You sighed “If anyone should get punched, it’s me.”

“You are not for punching,” the skeleton glared at you, more pointedly, for saying such a thing.

“Is anyone?” Papyrus gave no reply, his attention returning to the road. You turned your head away from him, crossing your arms “I really messed up. I’m nervous… He says it's fine, he _seems_ fine. But it doesn’t feel fine.”

“… In my experience, Sans is not one to be passive aggressive with his words,” Papyrus gently tried to assure you “He will sooner say nothing than _lie_ about how he’s feeling.”

“I suppose you do have a few years of experience on me.”

“Twenty-four of them.”

You gave a half smile. Papyrus gingerly rubbed the back of his head, before returning his hand to the wheel.

“Reader… I should tell you, I really appreciate you being honest with him. I try to stay away from keeping secrets if I can. I’m good at many things,” you raised your eyes at the unusual statement of self-confidence, which, up to this point, had only been the stuff of rumours, to you “But secret-keeping is not one of them.”

“It just wasn’t the kind of secret I wanted to keep. Secrets like that ruin families,” you sighed, defeatedly, and hung your head “I can’t believe I’ve done this.”

The skeleton found himself frowning into the traffic ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel “Reader, you’re talking as though this is all your fault.”

“I’m just so _stupid._ How could I have done this to Sans? How could I have done this to YOU? It is _entirely_ my fault.”

“You are _not_ stupid, and no,” Papyrus spoke with a firmness that unsettled you, stinging you with a _look_ out of the corner of his eye “It’s not.”

You sucked in a shallow breathe; he’d never looked at you with such annoyance and cold impatience. He could feel himself prickling with an unfounded irritation, but he couldn’t help it. You were going to sit there and call yourself stupid? You were going to sit there and blame yourself entirely for this damned kiss? Make him out to be a victim? Like that singular, fleeting moment of god-sent intimacy with you he’d got to experience was a revolting, selfish molestation. _He_ had kissed you _too,_ and even if he felt guilty, even if he’d betrayed his brother, even if he was climbing the walls with shame and embarrassment, he was not about to let you _take that success away from him._

Meanwhile, on the other side of the scathing look, sat you, taken aback by such an expression in the generally-gentle skeleton’s face. Your skin pinched and tweaked with agitation and insecurity, manifesting in the form of words that were, against your better judgement, a useless, wishy-washy repetition of last night’s question.

“Do you like me, Papyrus?” Why were you like this?

“You asked me that, yesterday,” came his cold reply, and it was as though someone had turned on a tap and let all the blood drain into your legs, while your face burned in an embarrassed juxtaposition. He wasn’t done “You’re my brother’s girlfriend. You make him happy. Of course I like you. You’ve done nothing to make me not-like you. Why would you ask me the same question twice?!”

His voice had progressively steeped in volume as he, wow, _lectured_ you, until _that_ finally became him scolding you like a crotchety teacher in an old school-house. Defence and embarrassment swirled and swelled and split you at the seam, barking “Alright, ALRIGHT, you don’t have to be a knob about it. Jesus CHRIST.”

Papyrus visibly bristled at your retaliation, stuttering in surprise as he scrambled for something else to shout at you “W-WH-WHO EVEN IS THAT?!”

“… What?!”

“WHO EVEN IS THAT?!” he demanded. You could see his face heating up with a smear of orange “You say that name ALL the time! ‘Christ almighty!’ ‘Jesus wept!’ It doesn’t make any sense! Why are they weeping?!”

You stared at him blankly, your mouth agape and your mind racing. Your self-awareness leapt out of your core to hover above the car and view this scene from the outside.

Papyrus was so different from you in every way you could think of. This creature that had grown up with a culture _so far_ removed from your own. A _skeleton_ who, today, was casually dressed as though he were going to a comic book convention, suited up like a character from a video game in home-made armour of white and red and blue. This bizarre man, who was twice your size and made of myth and magic, just _driving to the shops_ in the biggest, reddest convertible you had ever seen. Meanwhile, you sat next to him, tiny, in the passenger seat; Raggedy Ann, bickering over nothing with a living, breathing symbol of death, because some weird chemical pull had led you to kiss in the dead of the night, while his brother, your passively-haunting boyfriend, slept upstairs. _He didn’t even have lips_.

It was absurd.

_He_ was absurd.

**_You_** were absurd.

You huffed out one laugh.

Then you chuckled.

One would have thought that some comfort could be found in the fact that this god-awful car ride was finally over as, at last, the skeleton pulled into the car park and settled into a space. However, contrary to that assumption, sweat was _pouring_ out of Papyrus’ head as he had listened to your single chuckle become several, which then jittered into fits of giggles, which then all but rolled and rambled into absolutely uncontrollable, outrageous laughter. In any other context, the fact that you were wheezing like a cartoon villain’s canine sidekick would have been the silliest, most adorable thing the skeleton had ever witnessed of you, but on this occasion, eyes fixed on the road and unable to read you, the sound had been torture.

Because, almost certainly, you were laughing at him. His face shone with shame, confused and embarrassed, because what else could there be to laugh at _other_ than him? Pitiful Papyrus. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he turned off the engine, wheezes and cackles still barrelling out of you, fully prepared to whirl his face towards you and yell at you to cut it out, to stop LAUGHING at him! But his eyes popped open in surprise as a tender hand cut through the laughter to warmly grip his arm.

And finally he looked at you again.

You were a state; your face was beet red and tears were rolling down your face as you just _kept on laughing_. But through the tears and the hysteria shone a gleam of something kind and warm and welcoming, and your touch bridged a gap that invited him into your bubble, and he realised your weren’t laughing at _him_. Your eyes asked him _“Isn’t this all just so funny?”_

Yes, he supposed it was.

When you were rewarded with a weak laugh, you were set off even harder, and Papyrus found himself chuckling again, amused by your intense response. You really were a state! 

That touch must have infected him, because your fits were contagious, laughter splitting louder and louder through him, as he really stopped to _think_ about the situation. All of this stress and upset over a human! Who would have ever thought it! The sworn enemy of his kind for hundreds of years, legendarily terrifying, deadly, life-destroying creatures and yet a member of its massive clan had somehow totally enraptured him. And here you were, truly the most enchanting thing he had ever witnessed, snorting, wheezing, coughing and damn-near wetting yourself on the expensive leather of his passenger seat, because _apparently_ it was weird that he didn’t know who Jesus was supposed to be.

Papyrus _howled_ with you.

“You...” you attempted, gasping for breath “You don’t know who Jesus is!”

“No!” Papyrus cried, wiping tears from his eyes, cheeks aching from smiling as he continued to laugh, too “We’ve never been introduced!”

That got you screaming, and the skeleton’s core flurried with excitement, to add fuel to the fire “Are they a friend of yours?! You bring them up a lot!”

“I do!” you whinnied helplessly “You’re right, I do, you’ve been paying attention!”

“At least once a day! Jesus Christ,” he grumbled a teasing impression of you “Should we invite them to dinner?!”

“Jesus!” shrieked your laughing voice, smacking the skeleton’s knee, earning you a playful shove “JESUS! WOULD YOU LIKE SOME SPAGHETTI?!”

“ONLY THE BEST FOR READER’S DEAR FRIEND, JESUS CHRIST.”

Who knew Papyrus had such a sense of humour?

Hearing him laugh at all was novel, but sitting next to him in the car, crying with laughter, as he kept cracking jokes about the situation, words only just intelligible past the cackling rasp of his voice, well... You certainly didn’t expect yourself to be chortling and chuckling like class clowns with _this_ particular skeleton.

If humour ran in the family, then this was definitely a family you wouldn’t object to being a part of.

But the hysterics had to die, eventually, rattling out into weak, exhausted giggles as you and Papyrus slumped back in your seats, wiping tears from eyes and eye sockets, as you heaved a deep sigh, raising a hand to cross your vision, to rest. Your free hand fished blindly from your side to hold onto the sleeve of the skeleton’s thermal.

“Let’s not fight,” came your low, gentle proposal, and Papyrus turned his head to take you in, weak and physically resigned, but gripping onto him in solidarity, all the same.

He smiles “Yes. There’s no need.”

“ _No_ need,” you sat up and met his gaze “We’re all on the same team. Remember that.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He hesitated for a moment, before placing a large, gloved hand firmly over yours, tiny, on his arm. He squeezed “You remember that, too.”

Between you shone the warmest smile.

“Come on,” you gently tugged your hand free and went about unbuckling your seatbelt “Let’s get that damned laundry gel and get the hell out of here.”

With the car locked behind you, the two of you made your way into the centre, Papyrus moving in grand, swooping strides of his long legs and you taking three steps for every one of his, as you passed by the shops and the people in a welcomed silence. You looked up at the great, looming skeleton to see a smile curled into his cheeks. He was handsome when he smiled.

And smile, he did. Just a light one, no need to be grinning from ear to ear. But at your side, with the tension broken and quietness sitting pleasantly between you, he found his chest to be swelling with… _Optimism_.

Papyrus felt better than he had done in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what I do? Buy me a coffee, won't you? ko-fi.com/circleheadd


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